


you run my mind, boy

by thimble



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Long Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 12:58:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1745462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thimble/pseuds/thimble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Muro-chin,” Atsushi says, drawing out the last syllable in his usual fashion. “Were you sleeping?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	you run my mind, boy

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted from tumblr.

He’s going to have a word with Starbucks.

He explicitly remembers asking for an extra shot in his espresso, but it might as well have been decaf—he ends falling asleep anyway. It would’ve been disastrous if his phone hadn’t woken him, the phone that’s currently ringing in his ear since he nodded off while he was at his desk. He ignores it for a second or two before pressing the answer button with half-opened eyes.

“Hello?” he inquires, though no one else would be calling at this time.

“Muro-chin,” Atsushi says, drawing out the last syllable in his usual fashion. “Were you sleeping?”

Tatsuya yawns, sitting up and stretching out his back and his free arm while the other held the phone to his ear. His alarm clock tells him that it’s 1:30 AM. “Mm, yeah.”

“I knew it. You’re so irresponsible, Muro-chin. You’re supposed to be studying for your exams.”

“Sorry, sorry. You woke me up though, so thank you.”

His mouth twitches upwards when Atsushi grunts at the other end of the line. “What are you gonna do without me, huh? I was right, Muro-chin shouldn’t be living alone,” he adds, never mind that Tatsuya is doing just fine since he moved to the States for university, nearly a year and a half ago. It’s clear that he means something else, and Tatsuya reads the fine print in his voice.

“I’m coming home for winter break,” he reminds gently. “You can tell me off in person then.”

“Should’ve done that for Thanksgiving too,” Atsushi mutters under his breath, and Tatsuya finds himself shaking his head before realizing he isn’t even there to see it.

“It was one week, and I had a lot of assignments to finish.”

“You can’t do your assignments here?”

“No, I’d be too distracted,” he says, laced with innuendo, and he has to laugh when Atsushi only snorts in response. One of these days Tatsuya will find the right words to ruffle him while they’re on the phone.

“You’re a pervert, Muro-chin.” The admonishment might’ve been more effective if Atsushi didn’t follow it up with a recount of his day, which includes rattling off titles of the books he’s reading for his classes, describing the consistency of the mashed potatoes he’d eaten for lunch, and alerting Tatsuya to the realization that the new soap in the men’s bathrooms had the same scent as Tatsuya’s shampoo.

“It’s called, ah, I forgot…”

“Cocoa butter,” Tatsuya supplies, and Atsushi hums in agreement.

“Yeah, it’s really weird. When I smelled my hands, it was like having Muro-chin with me.” The last part is a whisper, like he’s embarrassed to say it with so many people around. Tatsuya checks his clock again and counts seventeen hours ahead, and as much as he loathes having to put the phone down, he has to ask him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at practice right now, Atsushi?”

“I am.” Atsushi hesitates, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been. “I finished warming up early.”

“Then what are you doing on the phone? Besides, international calls are expensive. You should’ve just waited for me on Skype.”

“Eh, but I have to play basketball now.”

“What?” Tatsuya says, because nothing about that makes any sense. Atsushi’s resounding sigh, the one he releases when he thinks Tatsuya’s being annoying, comes out as static in the cell signal.

 “It’s too troublesome to play if Muro-chin’s not here. But I thought if I heard your voice, you know…” he trails off, feigning disinterest, while Tatsuya has to bury his face in the crook of his arm to keep from screaming as the phrase pressed down on his heart, albeit tenderly in his chest. It’s no secret that Atsushi considers him an inspiration, but it’s another thing to hear it spoken aloud.

“Atsushi,” he says, while the numbers on the clock glow 1:43. “I miss you too.”

There’s silence on Atsushi’s end, and Tatsuya grins at having stupefied him at last.

“Ah, the coach is shouting at me,” Atsushi says, and he’s usually a better liar than that. “Bye-bye, Muro-chin.”

He hangs up before Tatsuya can reply, but it’s worth it for the mental image it provides; of the telltale flush that starts at his throat and paints his cheeks and ears, depending on how self-conscious he is. It’s enough to get Tatsuya through this dreaded all-nighter (and the next day, the rest of the week, and the week after that, until he’s on the plane headed to Japan, too.) 


End file.
